After four days, Pierre realised that finding someone nowadays wasn't as easy as he had thought and it showed negatively in his mood, causing Pyry to point out during a training session that they would find his Cinderella sooner if he wouldn't had only thought with his dick and actually asked for his name which only wounded the Frenchman's ego further. 

He was an asshole while being charming, he had understood the lecture. She had already knocked his ego down a few inches, no need for his performance coach to do the same. Pierre had told him to shut up, that Ella as they nicknamed her didn't matter to him at all. Why would she? But he couldn't deny that it frustrated him to a certain extent and the people around him had begun to feel it and tease him about his Ella. God, he hoped that wasn't her real name.

At first, he really wanted to only give her the booklet back, but by the third day, he tried to find her to prove something. To make a point and let her know about his opinion of her, just as she had pushily let him know about hers.

Thinking about it for too long, it had felt as if they had gone on a date only for her to dumb him. Pierre didn't do either. He didn't go on dates, and he didn't get dumped by ugly ducklings. Somehow, he felt violated. It was his free will to be a manwhore as she had said, nothing wrong with it. He was young wild and free. He should be a whore. He should fuck around before settling down. She had no right to make him feel bad about his lifestyle. A girl like her would never understand.

The time spent in his mind hadn't been healthy. The Frenchman felt the need to make her believe that he wasn't what she claimed him to be and then he felt the need to make her understand that he was exactly what she claimed him to be and that he didn't give a fuck whether she thought it was okay or not. Her opinion didn't matter to him. He was young, hot and rich. She was a no one, never had met him before, so anger mixed into the many complicated feelings he had for the unknown woman. How dare she have an opinion about him? He would find her and if it was only to tell her to go fuck herself, it would be good.

He was so bothered and on edge about the whole situation that he had decided to simply forget her. A no one. He didn't even know a name to forget which was even better and what could be a sweeter way to forget a woman than with a lot of alcohol and another?

So he went out with the intention of finding some girl to spend the night with and unsurprisingly fast he had a few girls at his side, each and every one of them willing, beautiful and young, all he had to do now was pick one but where would be the fun in bringing her home, both of the sober, so Pierre did his uttermost to change that.

<><><>

Her name was Samantha, but she told him to only call her Sam. He hated himself for asking. Before meeting Ella, he would have never done so. And now he knew already more about this woman than he wanted to know.

Laying on the bed next to her, they both tried to catch their breaths. Sam had bedded her head on the Frenchman's arm but got disturbed as Pierre moved to climb out of bed, causing her to huff in annoyance which caused him to roll his eyes before he walked into the bathroom.

She was boring, plain almost. Nothing witty about her and her eyes weren't coming even close to hers either. He despised her for how average she was despite being that beautiful. All endlessly long legs and fake boobs. Everything he normally enjoyed.

Standing by the skin in the bathroom, he was her from the corner of his eyes. The chick shook her head at him as she watched the ceiling for a moment, before she popped herself up on her elbows, grimacing as she looked down at herself and saw the mess Pierre made.

"Here, let me." Pierre's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts as Pierre sat down next to her before she smirked up at him and let her legs fall open with her eyes intensely on him, but Pierre ignored her while starting to clean her up.

Way softer than Pierre would have liked, but that's something which will never change. Girls were always a bit too soft, a tick too tender after sex as if it meant something, which it clearly didn't. It could never mean something.

Jesus, since when was he so nice? He should just throw the cloth at her and demand her to leave right after cleaning herself up. He didn't do tender. He fucked them and left. He was a manwhore after all. He had to own the title she had given him.

"All done." He muttered with a fake smile on his lips, while the chick pulled the covers over her body again causing Pierre to groan inwardly. There was no fucking way he would allow her to stay the night. The bed was for girlfriends and wives, not some hookups. Before Pierre could ask her to leave, like he asked so often and wanted so dearly, Sam reached for the little metal box which was laying on the bedside table next to her wedding ring, which she took off, before she slept with Pierre.

"You don't mind, do you?" Sam wanted to know as she lifted the joint between two of her long and delicate fingers towards Pierre, who shook his head. He simply crawled into bed again after disposing the washcloth. If she planned to stay longer, he could enjoy it as well. Resting his head on Sam's chest, while he watched her lighten the joint, before taking a long track.

Her eyes were on the joint for a moment before she exhaled way more relaxed already, causing Pierre to shake his head amused, before taking her wrist and directing her hand to his mouth so he could take a track as well. All the while he did that, Sam's gaze landed on the cross which tangled from Pierre's neck.

"When does your husband come back?" Pierre wanted to know as he watched Sam bringing the joint back to her mouth again.

"Doesn't have to bother you, sweety." She exhaled, little circles of smoke levitating in the bedroom and by god Pierre wanted to kick her out.

"Not if you leave before he comes back." Pierre pointed out while he carefully watched Sam. Pierre pulled his eyebrows together. The woman didn't seem to be bothered at all that she had just cheated on her husband. Pierre wasn't a saint either, had miss stepped a few times while having a girlfriend but he swore would he ever find one to marry, he would never do this to her.

Sometimes he wondered how he ended up in this mess. It had all started so long ago. Pierre had been miserable, he just got degraded from Red Bull back to Alpha Tauri and feared for his seat and then everything with Antoine happened. That shit messed him up, Pierre knew it, but he would never admit it. People tried to help him at first, to grieve and heal, but soon they've given up on him. He understood them.

"I know. I guess I just thought I would have more time." Sam muttered not really present, causing Pierre to sit up only to look deeply into her eyes. Fuck no, he wasn't playing therapist for his hook-up, he needed one himself.

"What is it again you do for a living?" Sam asked him, causing Pierre to look over to the mirror before answering.

"I'm a racer." He said to his reflection in the mirror as if he would have to make sure he believed himself.

"What a shame," Sam told him while reaching around his chin and making him look at her.

"You are so pretty. I take good care of my sugar babies, you know. If you're ever sick of driving, let me know, sugar." She pointed out after climbing out of bed only to start gathering her things, so she could leave soon. Meeting like these didn't take long after the sex part was over, Pierre knew and enjoyed that.

Watching Sam get dressed with the joint between her lips, he climbed out of bed as well. Only to take the joint and make a long track, before he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Sam with disapproval.

"Are you offering to make me a whore?" The Frenchman asked, her offer taken as an insult, which caused the woman before him to smirk at him unapologizing.

"My whore." Sam promised him, but Pierre didn't want to hear anything of it. He went to the bedside table and picked Sam's wedding ring up before tossing up in the air and catching it with his other hand.

"So what?" He asked while inspecting the little piece of jewellery. His cross shining in the sun, nearly as much as Sam's ring but night had settled over his home. Nothing glittering, nothing shines.

"You call upon me whenever you want to fuck, and I do as I'm told? That will never happen." Pierre protested, finally looking up at her again, but Sam looked as neutral as ever. She only shrugged.

"You think boys like you are rare? They are not." Sam told him as Pierre took her hand, the joint between his lips, so he could put her wedding ring back on. A frown on his face.

"You are out of control, sugar. You need someone to put you back in place. I saw that the moment my eyes landed on you in that club." Sam pressed, but as Pierre still refused to say something, she took her hands out of his grasp and put them on his cheeks. Forcing him to look at her, her eyes filled with something mean, he didn't want to see.

"You have no idea what I need." Pierre breathed out after his hand had come up to take the joint from his lips. A harsh look on his beautiful features.

"Have you?" Sam challenged and all Pierre wanted to answer her was to get out. To go and never come back to him.

"Leave." Pierre finally said causing Sam to nod once before she got her clothes and left him alone with the joint.

Well, shit. Things were about to get real, and he had to find a way not to drown in whatever mess he called his life was going on.

He took his cross between two fingers while holding the joint in the same hand. Pierre talked with God, but the sky was empty. Maybe God didn't listen to sinners. Maybe they were all doomed.

<><><>

After that, he didn't go out for a long time, not in the mood to pick anyone up. Only to have sex with someone he didn't care for. He didn't care for the little warmth a body by his side in bed was giving to him any longer, no matter for how long. He wanted to be alone, well no, that was a lie. He wanted to talk to her.

The weeks in which he didn't come even one step closer to her were many. In his free time, Pierre went through his followers himself, but they were so many he felt like blocking everyone who couldn't be her until she was the only one remaining, but such behaviour would only hurt his image even more. Asking wtf1 for help was a mistake, not due to the people working there, they were perfectly nice and truly tried to help, but the mass of women who claimed to be here was just to shrinking. Every day a bunch of new people claimed they were her and that Pierre hadn't posted something since the pictures with her came up wasn't helping either.

He wondered where she was hiding, she surely noticed that they tried to find her. Maybe it should be him to post something, that he was looking for her, but this would only cause more drama to the story. He didn't want her to be modern-day Cinderella even though people had started to call her that because no one knew her name, the fans have named her Ella. Pierre wasn't sure he liked the name, didn't want to think too much about it anyways. If it suited her or not, it wasn't her real name most likely.

Laying in bed at night, he wondered what her real name was. If she looked like a Sofia or more like a Marie, maybe a Lily. No, he was sure she had a unique name, a name that commanded respect and the full use of the tongue. A strong name, or a boy's name? Even though she didn't look like a Billy? He didn't know and it was eating away at him.

He never thought something like that would happen to him. He was always the cool one, the one who just wanted some fun and now he was desperately looking for a woman he had met only to spend five hours with her and never see her again. That was nearly five weeks ago and no word of her, no real word of her reached him. He felt so lost.

Pierre wondered if that was how it was supposed to be. Maybe she was just meant to make him think about his life, make him realise that he only looked at the people around him on the surface. Maybe he was destined to never find her. He hoped he was wrong, but he also noticed the dynamic the search for her had reached. People saw her as a puzzle to solve. Used all their free time to find someone, who doesn't want to be found. She would have given him a life sign already if she would want to see him again.

Maybe it would be better to end it all and let her live her life in peace wherever she was, whatever she was doing. It was just a dinner, just about five hours. She shouldn't have such an impact on his life. On the way, he looked at the things now. He didn't go out that much anymore, the last post on Instagram was from before he met her. Maybe he should post again, something borderline to pornographic, so she could laugh and call him a manwhore again. He would enjoy that. She was right after all.

Pierre felt terrible. As if he was obsessed with her. He never wanted to push her too much. It wasn't his intention to be overbearing and push, she deserved better. He knew her no more than five hours but he knew that this woman, the woman who had listened to him and made him smile deserved the fucking world. He wouldn't be able to give her even all of him. Pierre wasn't ready to be one part of a whole he knew that so looking for her felt wrong. He had nothing to offer apart from her booklet. He found comfort in it.

Her writing was sharp and painful. She wasn't hiding the truth, didn't write about the horror of the big bad world, she wrote about the details, and it got him every time. He loved her poetry. It was so artsy but the notes, the page-long notes about her own fears, her own sorrow was way more gripping. He felt he knew her. Her worries and sorrow. He felt as if he learned to know her.

She was full of sorrow and fear. She feared not being enough, to fall before she even had reached the top and this fear Pierre understood. He had read her notes about the words that scared her, the most gripping piece of art he had ever read. Maybe because she took a knife and engraved it into her heart, he wasn't sure, but he began to fear these words with her.

Promising – for her this word is heartache.

At first, he hadn't understood but now he guessed he did. She feared it because they gave it to her as if it was a title and her shoulders were too small to carry it. She feared to disappoint, because what if they were wrong, what if she wasn't promising if she was just a good actress? What if she was nothing? If she burned to the ground. Pierre believed that a woman who thought like that could never disappoint anyone.

He knew he did because he didn't have the same fears as she did. He did because suddenly he felt disconnected. His life a show he was watching. His career an unimportant component in such a huge, bigger picture. He stopped to care, he dropped in the ranks. Barely holding on but what was he supposed to do?

The Frenchman had browsered her booklet in the search for an answer, but it seemed as if she didn't have one. An unsatisfactory feeling. He saw her as this bright and wild beauty who was wise beyond her years. She should have all the answers so the only task at Pierre's hands would be to find her so she can tell him all the answers, but he feared she would send him on another journey to find himself once he had found her.

Turing the pages in her booklet he found a note, no poetry he hadn't read before. It was the middle of the night, and he was hurting, there was no better time no place to read her words.

Being at your prime. What does that even mean? Today, I'm better than the rest but tomorrow, tomorrow I might be nothing. We all come with an expiration date. When is mine? Can you tell me? We know time is running, never our friend, always the enemy. Once you are an adult it's easier they say, it's a lie. It's never easy. People stop believing in you when you don't do what they expect. One day you will be too old to do it. And it's coming closer and closer, the end. You have to show your worth or thy will cast you away before you're even close to your prime. I won't overstay my welcome. I don't want to hang onto a career which is usual at most. Once I've reached my expiration date, I will go and never come back.

That night, for the very first time Pierre thought that she might not answer to his calls, to him reaching out to her is due to her being unable to. Her booklet is a dark place. Happiness not to be found. What if she has left, long before he could find her? What if he was the last person she had spoken to? Is that why she had left such an imprint on him? Because she was gone?

The next morning, he went back to search for her. The thought that there was nothing to find any longer pushed into a dark corner of his mind. He would find her. 3.4 million people and she was worth the time it would take to ask each and every one of them personally if they knew her. Pierre was sure of that.

Maybe she had forgotten him already, but he couldn't forget her, not after holding her most secret thoughts, her fears written in this tiny book of darkness to his heart for so long.